A Ride to Aerilon
by Golden Boots
Summary: Gaius Baltar languishes in his cell, his mind its usual morass of self-pity and pomposity. His clever hands wander… Laura Roslin can't sleep for thinking how much she hates him. And how he looked when her guard stripped him. She'll never rest 'til she gets this out of her system. And he's not going anywhere... Set after Season 3 - Episode 16 "Dirty Hands". Icon:anaithis DISCLAIMERS


**A Ride to Aerilon**

The lights were low in Gaius' cell – as low as they were ever permitted to go, that is. The guards and the cameras needed some light in order to fulfil their voyeuristic function.

The ex-President of the Colonies was lost in reverie again. As he lay on his cot, one hand behind his head, the other splayed on his chest, he narrowed his eyes and lost himself in fantasies of triumph and vindication. Perhaps this time he'd go for a coronation. Yes, in this fantasy, he had led the fleet to Earth, united human and cylon-kind in peace, founded a great and fair civilisation…and been crowned king in the process and king trumps bloody President any old day! And Laura? Well, she had better start treating him with the damned respect he deserved. He swept down from his daïs on the field of green, Caprica Six smiling her approval from her throne in the background, to where Roslin stood flanked by two of his guards, one of whom had the President's arms pinned behind her back. All magnanimity with a soupçon of contempt, he stood directly before her, swathed in damask and fur, enjoying his inch or two of height superiority. When she glared up at him with those defiant green eyes, he took her little chin between forefinger and thumb, and kissed her. It was brief and it was lush, and he loved it when she snatched her head back, the anger flooding out of her setting his erotic sensors crackling. Not even Caprica Six entertained such powerful emotions regarding him. His upper lip curled on one side in his characteristic sneer-smile as the hand on his chest strayed south, rubbing across the growing bulge in his white jockey shorts.

"It seems someone at least is getting some rest and TLC."

His shaggy head jerked up and he looked along the length of his body, over the bump of his hard-on to where Laura Roslin stood outside the door of his cell in another of her severe suits.

Gaius made haste to pull his coarse blanket over him as he swung himself into a sitting position, bare legs dangling over the side of his cot. "I'd hardly call a fitful sleep night after night on a damp mattress 'rest'." He glared up at her like a sullen child. "What have you come here for, Laura? I'm afraid there's no more of my _magnum opus _left for you to plunder."

"I'm very aware there's no paper stuffed inside your shorts. I could clearly see the outline of your cock."

That made him pay attention. Roslin was a woman who deployed words judiciously. She did not simply use the first to jump into her mind. If she had chosen the word 'cock' when there were so many variants available, she meant something by it. That particular word, more powerful than 'penis', more carnal than 'dick'. Something flickered within him at the sound of it.

"Thank you," said Roslin to the guard as he opened the door and let her into Gaius' cell. She strolled over in a lazy fashion, bare legs scissoring beneath her knee length skirt. She drew up a chair and sat herself opposite his cot.

Gaius ran his hands over his knees. Displacement activity. He wished he had a cigarette to fiddle with. He didn't like to admit it but Roslin's sudden appearance at one in the morning had unnerved him. "I have to ask you again, Laura. Why are you here?" His voice was low and grating, the way it always sounded when he was feeling defeatist.

"I couldn't sleep."

"Thinking of me, perhaps?"

"Yes, actually."

His head snapped up, surprise like a blush on his expressive face. The fog of suspicion lifted and, for a moment, all he saw was a woman. An attractive woman with a stern expression overlying softer features. Warm red locks. _Very _good legs. That lilac satin blouse again.

"I was thinking," she said as she removed her glasses and set them on his table, "about how much I hate you."

"Yes, well, I'm sorry to be the inspiration for your nightmares. It may surprise you to know, however, that I don't hate you. I've never hated you."

Roslin's mouth was tight, as if she'd just discovered a bad smell. "I suppose you think that makes you the better person."

"Not at all. But I do understand what you're feeling, you know." He looked up at her with a plaintive brow, eyes momentarily full of compassion.

"Hazel," she rapped out. "I always thought your eyes were brown, they seem so dark."

"People often make that mistake." From character assassination to body appraisal in a second? He held her gaze, wondering where this was going. Hoping his intuition was correct.

The President slowly uncrossed her legs, spreading her knees apart. Her skirt rode up as she did so and, fortunately for Gaius, the light in his cell fell at just the right angle, illuminating the secret place between her thighs. Matching lilac satin knickers revealed themselves, stretched marvellously tight. Alright – now he knew where this was going. Or did he? Roslin's face was impassive as ever.

Gaius Baltar had often wondered what it would be like to be humiliated by a beautiful woman. He had known what it was to be a woman's plaything and there were certainly incidences of spanking and what have you in his sexual history but the emphasis had always been on fun. His ego got in the way if things took a darker turn. But he had thought about what it would be like if the giggling stopped. Perhaps it was only if the artifice were stripped away and the domination were real that he could truly lose himself in submission. As Roslin rose and stalked towards him, his heart was thumping like a caged beast. He lifted his head and focused all his attention on the nerves in his lips until they buzzed like bees on a warm May morning in anticipation of the woman's kiss.

What he got was a descending hand, and a fistful of hair grabbed and pulled skywards. He yelped in surprise.

As if holding up a muddy puppy by the scruff of its neck, she dragged him over to the bars of his cell, at the same time flicking her head to indicate the guard should now enter, bringing with him the instruments she had prepared.

She let go and the excruciating pain diminished. But Gaius had no time to gather his thoughts before a pair of huge arms pinned his own behind his back and he was dragged to the floor. He lay between the guard's knees, feeling the man's hot breath on his shoulder as he watched Roslin pull an ominously-bulging bag towards her and rummage inside it. His mind raced. "Oh, Laura, please, no, don't do this," he pleaded. He was sweating – his long hair was sticking to his face. He was acutely aware of his own back, straining to sense if the guard had something hard pressed against it. Praying he didn't. This wasn't his fantasy at all!

Roslin drew out a wicked-looking device of glinting silver.

"Oh Gods – what are you going to do with me?"

She hitched up her skirt and straddled his lap, her satin-clad crotch entirely on display now and pressed against his. The guard grasped his forelock and wrenched his head back, exposing the scientist's throat. Roslin closed in.

Gaius screamed. Then he heard the snipping. The _snickety-snick _of sharp silver scissors.

"I thought it was about time I did something about that beard. I've had enough of you trying to pull off the prophet look. Also, I want to be able to see that mouth once I put it to work."

Her words had an hypnotic effect. He found himself licking his lips in anticipation. Unless she was talking about the guard, that is. In that case, lip-UNlickety. His shoulder joints were beginning to ache. He slid his eyes to the left as far as they would go. "You do know you're hurting me, don't you?"

"Yes," said the guard.

Roslin chuckled. She put the scissors to one side then brought out of her bag a bowl, a can of shaving foam and a razor. She applied the foam liberally to his jaws and throat, and went to work. "You'll have to bear with me," she murmured. "I'm not used to this."

"Oh really?" he said. "You might not shave your face but surely there're other places you take a razor to?"

She met his eyes. "You might consider using a less cocky tone with me, Dr Baltar."

He held her gaze and – imperceptibly to anyone but the President herself – ground his hips against her crotch the tiniest amount, his hardening prick creating a bulge she could not help but feel. She did not grind in response but neither did she break the contact. He looked down and caught her thigh muscles twitching. _Very good, _he thought and could not resist a smirk.

Roslin took his chin and lifted it as she began to draw the razor up his throat. The blades were sharp but Gaius' hair was thick and a raspy patina of black dots was left in the wake.

"You'd like it if I hated you, wouldn't you?" he said.

"Are we back to that again?"

"You want me to hate what you're going to do to me. But I love sex, Laura."

She snorted her contempt. "Your long list of conquests makes that highly apparent."

He frowned, genuinely peeved. "No, it's not about that. It's about sensuality. Pleasure. I love to touch and be touched."

"Guard – I don't think you're holding him tight enough."

He responded by pulling Gaius' arms up until he was in the strappado position. Then the pain and the moment the pain might end were all the scientist could think about for the last minute or two it took Roslin to shave him.

With a final sweep up beside his grimacing mouth, she finished and ordered the guard to leave. "I still need this," she said, placing her hand on the bag when the guard tried to remove it. She patted Gaius' face with a warm flannel, leaving his skin clean and soothed. She still sat astride him. He remained biddable as she went about her clearly well-thought-out procedure. After putting the shaving equipment back in the bag, she moved forwards and peeled his striped linen shirt from his shoulders so all he was left with were his white vest and white shorts. She rubbed his shoulders then, finding all the spots that ached most but spending far longer rolling her palms over his deltoids than was necessary. Her mouth was half trenchant line, half libertine pout. Gaius was smiling inside. He knew he was looking pretty beefy at the moment. What else had he had to do in his cell all day but write and play with himself and work out? He closed his eyes and sank into Roslin's touch like a luxuriating cat.

When she'd done, she let her hands slide down his chest to the waistband of his jockey shorts. Without fuss, she dipped her hand inside the flap and pulled out his prick. He was fully hard now. Gaius gasped at the feel of her warm little hand gripping it firmly at the base, holding it so close to her own scantily-clad private parts. His hard-on was twitching, bouncing. And she left him like that. Got up and went back to her chair, and left him sprawled against the bars with his cock sticking up obscenely from his underwear. He was a sex object now. He sort of loved it.

"Come here, Baltar," she instructed.

He began to climb to his feet.

"No! Crawl."

He dipped his head with his usual disingenuous deference then tore off his vest and lowered himself onto all fours. He crawled towards her, panther-like, his slightly curved erection throwing strong shadows beneath him, eyes looking up hotly from beneath his brows.

Roslin laid her arms on the arms of the chair and spread her legs for the third time. When Gaius reached her knees, she made a come-hither motion with her fingers and then the genius knew what he had to do. But before his tongue had time to slither out, Roslin slipped something around his neck, something she must've taken out of her bag while he wasn't watching. Startled, he put his hand to his throat and felt the cold metal links of a dog's choke chain. If she pulled on the lead, the chain would tighten around his neck. Dangerous. And highly fitting for the man-slut he was, a man incapable of saying no to an aroused woman. Gaius locked his lips on the flesh of her inner thigh and ran his tongue all the way up to the hollow beside her pelvis. He licked that warm bowl then came level with her elusive snatch. He let his lips just touch the satin, moving over it in delicate swirls, trying to gauge if they were running across a lump in the fabric yet – a lump that would mean her sweet little clit was already hard. He put his head back – the choke chain clunked up a few links until he just began to feel the pressure but it was worth it to see that dark spot on her knickers where her juices were beginning to soak through. He smiled smugly.

Gaius was good at this and he knew it. He was a truffle hunter by nature. He loved to touch women through sensuous fabrics – a little silk, the glide and fall of chiffon across curves and strong thighs, a little lace fringing to the knickers that reflected the fronds of flesh and blood that lived further in. He preferred foreplay, really, to full sex. Sometimes, when he was particularly attuned to a bed partner and _vice versa, _all the sex seemed like foreplay. He'd be circling his pelvis as he slowly frakked her, pulling it out for a bit, rubbing it, rubbing her, whispering in her ear, twisting her and himself this way and that so he could get a proper looky – orgasm delayed indefinitely.

He sank in again and planted his lips over the spot where her clitoris lay beneath, pressing his face in deeply and moving his head from side to side. At the same time, he walked his fingers along her right thigh until two of them crept under the edge of her knickers and pressed in. They met a firm, dry resistance at first, then as they pushed against her slit, they were rewarded with a sudden flood of juice that coated his first and middle fingers. He growled his pleasure at her pleasure, making sure his deep voice vibrated against her capitulating pussy. Pulling back an inch or so, Gaius withdrew his fingers and put them in his mouth, his tongue stealing out to meet them. He looked up at Roslin with a feral expression, ensuring she could see how he was enjoying – and owning – her pussy, letting some of her juices gleam on his lips for a moment before rolling his tongue across them and taking the flavour deep into his throat.

He couldn't make out her response. The light was behind her head; her face was in shadow. But then she reached down, stripped off her knickers and tossed them to one side. She ran a hand through his long black locks, pulling them forward so they framed his face, simultaneously tugging on the choke chain. He felt himself being dragged towards her. It was time to begin in earnest.

Long, slow tongue strokes from perineum to tip of the clit were his opening gambit. After a few with the end of his tongue, he mashed his mouth against her and pressed the flat of his tongue in hard, ensuring it hit each and every sensitive spot on its upward journey. "Mm, so frakking soft," he just had time to murmur before Roslin began to tilt her pelvis to meet each stroke. He stopped for a moment and sucked her labia into his mouth while his fingers tickled the entrance of her pussy, coaxing out the juice. As it began to flow, he lapped at it avidly as if desperate not to miss a drop. He loved the musky taste but he also knew women liked to know he liked it. They wanted to see him drink this evidence of their pleasure – the ultimate acceptance of their carnal nature.

Of course they did. It was logical. He liked to see them drink his cum, didn't he? He worked on the principle that, sexually, women probably wanted the same things he did and it served him well.

The _coup de grâce _now. Her juices were all over his face and her thighs were trembling in his hands. He fixed his lips on her clitoris, sucking on it, smiling at the feel of its munchkin hardness between his lips. He suckled and smiled away, pushing his fingers deeper inside her warmth to caress the length of her tunnel. It was not long before he began to zone off, spiralling up and away inside his own head. Pleasure and the senses were all he knew. His cock, still standing proud of his jockey shorts, was straining and he saw no reason not to let the old man in on the act. Gaius reached down with his left hand and began to lavish languorous strokes on his hard-on.

"That's enough of that."

Metal clamped tightly around his throat. Gaius sputtered against the President's snatch, his tongue momentarily forced out of his mouth. His eyes flew wide and filled with fear as Roslin pushed him backwards, moving with him, so he ended up on the floor supporting himself on his elbows with the redhead looming over him. She had a tight grip on the chain at his neck, forcing his head back so his dark waves tumbled against his shoulders. She crawled up his body until her mouth was at his left cheek, brushing against his dewy skin. "This is what you get if you displease me, Gaius Baltar," she said in a low, venomous tone. "You don't get to come until I tell you." With that, she took the other end of the choke chain – the leather part – and looped and tightened it just below the head of the scientist's circumcised cock.

He stared down his body in astonishment at the sight of his own erection trussed like a meat product and attached to his neck.

Roslin chuckled. She took off her gun-metal blue jacket and laid it on the chair behind her. Then she arched over him again, a contemptuous smile curling on her lips and her red hair falling around his face. Taking her time, she lifted her right hand, pulling back her arm and watching Gaius' dark, shining eyes follow the movement. She was waiting until she could see he had worked out exactly what she was going to do.

He just had time to squeeze his eyes shut before her hard hand descended and cracked across his cheek. Lead and chain went taut, choking him momentarily and wrenching his stiff cock to the right. "No, no, I don't like it!" he yelped, looking down at his prick's angry purple head. "It hurts. Oh, please don't do that again. It hurts me, you know it does."

"You don't like it?" she asked, at the same time lowering her mouth to him, her tongue broad and flat against her lower lip. She enveloped the head of his cock. His groan was like a cry for help. Roslin sucked hard, moving her lips over the leather loop and soothing the exquisitely sore spots with her saliva. Her eyes never left his face and seemed amused by his febrile arousal. Each time she sucked deeply, his head tried to fall back, the lead yanked on his stricken prick and he hissed through his teeth. The President's mouth was expert, pouting lips sliding circles over him. Her right hand began to crawl up his body, fingers spreading wide as they pushed up through his thick chest hair. She grasped the chain and pulled. This time, the pressure increased just enough for him to feel it. Blood pounded in his head; his breathing came in steady, harsh rasps. He felt head and cock throbbing together as if they were the only two parts of his body that existed now. His eyes began to roll and his hips to pump. Roslin had her mouth wide open – he could see his cock rubbing over her tongue, pre-cum streaking her mouth.

Unfortunately, he was a talker. "Yes," he began to gasp. "I'm going to come. I'm going to come in your mouth, Laura. I'm going to shoot my cum right down your throat!"

Instantly, she took her mouth away and grinned.

"Frak! Don't stop, please don't stop!" he cried, thrusting his cock at thin air.

Her response was to grab his shoulders and throw him over onto his stomach – not an easy task for a slight woman like Roslin but she had the element of surprise.

Gaius just had time to push himself up onto all fours before long legs slung themselves over his back and he had a rider. He could feel strong thighs squeezing his waist and the wetness of her nether mouth pressed against the centre of his lower back. His rider squirmed, circling that wetness and moaned. She leant forwards and pushed a swathe of his dark hair back so her mouth could access his ear. At the same time, her left hand ran under him, massaging his chest through the pelt. "Do you know what I'm going to do to you now, Gaius Baltar?"

He let his head hang. He looked defeated but the muscles in his cheeks were tense with arousal still. "I suppose," he began, finding the words hard to say out loud, "you're going to force something inside me." He looked over his shoulder at her, his moist eye fearful.

Roslin laughed, stroking his cheek. "I knew you'd say that! You're – almost resigned to it, aren't you? And because of that – no. No, I'm not going to stick my fingers or anything else in your asshole, doctor. I'm going to do something far more humiliating."

He swallowed. "May I ask what?"

"I'm going to get you to tell me exactly what you want me to do," she whispered, "in your own, natural, rustic, hilarious Aerilon accent."

For several long seconds, Gaius did not twitch a muscle. Then, in his deepest tone, he said, "No."

A slap landed on his cheek making his ear ring.

"No!" he shouted. "Never!"

She struck him with her fists on his shoulder blades over and over.

She couldn't make him do it. He would never do it. He was _Dr _Gaius frakkin' Baltar. He'd been the President. Everyone knew how cultured, how refined he was. He only smoked the best cigarettes. The shame of it...! He was so much more than that now, so much more – Caprica's beloved adopted son.

She gathered his hair in both of her hands and pulled back steadily, forcing his head up, exposing his lovely neck. _Clunk, clunk, clunk,_ went the choke chain. Wrenching pain seized him by throat and cock. Roslin kept up the pressure on his hair. "Come on, farm boy, talk dirty to me."

"No, no." Quieter now as tears poured from him, his mouth an agonised gash.

For a second, it seemed she was going to let go. But she was simply getting better purchase and providing a moment's relief to contrast with the pain that followed when she gave his hair a vicious yank.

He was choking, saliva spattering his lips. His prick felt as if it were caught in a rabbit snare growing deathly tight. Shooting pains arrowed into his balls and abdomen. Roslin leant in and told him his lines, and the next thing he knew, he was speaking them in between his sobs. "Ah want yer t'frak me. Ah want yer t'use me 'cos ah'm a filthy slut."

"That's right," she said. "A hustlin' farmboy. A dumb-ass gigolo who has nothing but his stiff prick to offer the worlds. Speak up, stupid! Let me hear those dulcet tones." She eased off on his hair so he could speak his humiliating lines more clearly.

"Use me. Ah'm nowt but a worm, frakkin' use me, crush me. Yer can frak me arse if yer want. Y'can rape me. Ah want yer to rape me. Please, please 'urt me!"

The President's laughter tinkled in his ear. "Oh, you do amuse me, Baltar." She let go of his hair, and ran her hands up and down his flanks.

The man was shaking like a horse after a long race. Spots of sweat glimmered in his hair like spangles on a festive tree. His limbs were about to give way at any moment. Before they could, Roslin dismounted, flipped him onto his back again and hoisted him so he was propped against the bars of his cell. In a swift gesture, she straddled him, removed the choke chain and lead, and finally pulled those jockey shorts down to his knees. "Oh, Laura!" he sobbed, looking up at her with pleading eyes – eyes that seemed to adore her. His trembling hands reached towards her. "Take off your blouse. Let me see your breasts, your beautiful breasts."

"No."

"Please." His palms alighted on her, fingers and thumbs moving together to clasp her nipples through the slipperiness of the satin.

In reply, she grasped his wrists and forced his arms up over his head, securing him to the bars with the dog chain. Gaius let himself hang, his body sprawled.

Grasping his erection, Roslin guided it to the entrance of her pussy and sank down on him, letting out a selfish, guttural cry as she did so.

Cushioned warmth embraced his still-tender cock. She might as well have pushed his entire body inside her – the sensation was all-encompassing. He let his head fall back, hips rising to meet her demanding with every stroke. It hurt – his prick hurt, his shoulders, his wrists – and it was delicious.

She surprised him then, leaning forwards and while her pelvis pumped animalistically, she grasped his face in both hands, thumbs running over his high cheekbones, tracing the slight upward curve to the right of his upper lip, plunging into his hair. Did she find him beautiful? Women always stroked the contours of his face when they were enamoured of him. Perhaps this was not just about revenge?

Meeting his eyes, Roslin purred, "I hate you, Gaius Baltar, you traitor." She slapped him. Pulled his face back to centre and slapped him again. Her hips never ceased their rhythm and his never failed to answer. His head lolled, his cheeks wet and glistening. "You've betrayed everyone who's ever placed their trust in you. I enjoy your misery. I love to see you cry."

A recalcitrant spike of ego reared its head. "I'm not crying. You caught the edge of my eye when you slapped me."

"And before?"

"You were choking me!" He looked like a wounded animal.

"Oh. Well. I won't do that again. Catch the edge of your eye, I mean." She slapped him backhand this time, harder than she had ever done before.

He tasted blood as their rhythm reached a ferocious pace. Roslin pressed her lips against his tear-stained skin, her tongue stealing out to gently dab. Then she took those tears to his mouth, forcing him to taste the flavour of his unhappiness. They kissed, holding on to each other with their lips as their frenzied lower halves sought to throw them off balance. Gaius' tongue flicked out, sampling the salt, feeling hers do the same. Their tongues entwined as they plunged into a fully romantic kiss that drowned them in sensation. And somewhere in the centre of it, Gaius let go. His pride, his vanity, all of it dropped away like the floor of a spinning fairground ride, stranding him in egoless sensuality. His face began to quiver and he whimpered into her mouth. When Roslin released his lips, his head fell back – she caught it in her hand before it struck the bars. There her palm remained, caressing his hair, thumb rubbing over his exposed throat while her other hand worked her clitoris in circles.

"Oh, you slut, Gaius," she gasped, her eyes blank and mouth slack as she built towards orgasm. "Slut, slut, slut, slut…" It was like a mantra.

Gaius looked down at his own lean, bucking torso; the point of their union, his shaft disappearing and reappearing; the frantic motion of Roslin's fingers on her small, pink stub; the juices spattering down onto his groin. His own orgasm was gathering. He closed his eyes and his mind ran wild, a slideshow of future encounters with Roslin playing behind his eyelids – pegging, whipping, golden showers, forcing him to masturbate while others watched, face-riding. Perhaps him dominating her some time, anally penetrating her over the President's desk in Colonial One.

Roslin won the race, gasping and spasming hard. Her pussy clenched around him, pulling his orgasm from him. Muscle and skin stretched tight across his cheekbones as his cock pulsed and emptied his warm seed inside her.

It was only when his arms fell back to his sides and the blood began to rush back into them, tingling like nettle stings, that he realised there was no comfort to come. Roslin was highly efficient when it came to clearing up in the aftermath. The choke chain was wound up into a ball and deposited in the bag; knickers were wriggled back on; a face flannel and a hairbrush emerged from the bag and Roslin's neck was patted dry and her hair primped in a heartbeat. No, there would be no gentle come-down, no patting dry of the bottom's drenched and heaving chest; no caressing of the bruised wrists; no sip of water; no tender kisses on the cheeks, on the eyelids, on the softening prick twined with soft words as consciousness returned. Gaius pulled his shorts back up over his hips, and watched Roslin pack and walk towards the cell door. "Laura," he said, just once. She did not even glance over her shoulder. His delicate feelings overwhelmed him and a final tear rolled down his cheek. Angry with himself, he rolled onto his side and glared fearfully at the security camera.

"Don't worry, Gaius," said a silky voice as an equally silky hand stole over his shoulder, "she had them turned off. She wouldn't want to be compromised by her liaison with you."

He snorted bitterly. "No-one would want to be compromised by a liaison with _me."_

"Ooh, do I detect a little wounded pride?" Caprica Six kissed his ear and stroked along his jawline, enjoying the new smoothness.

"I'm growing my beard back," he growled.

"I'm sure. But her shaving of your face was very telling, Gaius. She finds you beautiful. She can't help herself, especially now she believes she has all the power. You might just have hit upon the route to President Roslin's heart, if she has one. It was fascinating to watch."

"Oh, so that's what you were doing, is it? I'd wondered where you were." He felt her smile against his ear.

"I'm always watching you, Gaius, even when you can't see me. I love you. I love everything about you."

He turned to look at her, at that face he knew better than his own and his expression softened.

Her hair shadowed her, hid the flicker of self-doubt in her ice blue eyes as she said, "Do you find Laura Roslin beautiful?"

"Yes," he said simply. "But not as beautiful as you." There was absolute candour in his eyes.

The red lips smiled. "My clever, clever genius."


End file.
